The Midwest is alive with warmth and magic of harvest time. The air cool whispering fall and sun hot reminiscing summer.
Beginnings abundant and the witches come out in critical mass to stand in the wind and presence of new moon transitions, there is no mistaking wildness.
Some prayers have been answered, while others are still gestating.
I am drawn into thinking about the beauty of wildness and it’s destruction. I can’t feel the heat or burn of dry ash in my air. The way I imagine California feels as the wild burn of the forest fire sweeps through.
Is there any meaning in burning down structures we’ve built and love, homes and havens? I know fire is a rich death even as my heart aches for those in mourning.
Do you remember the wildness of land untamed, unconquered, uncivilized, uncolonized…I don’t. I’ve only heard of it, learned of it.
Is there bravery in untethering ourselves from the conventions of comfort? My life composed in the utmost of city living comforts, anything I want and need at my consumer fingertips if I have enough money to own it.
This idea of owning, purchasing, buying…where’s the wildness in that? Where is the trust, prayer, stretch?
Is it bravery it takes to conquer wildness or live with wildness?
I practice something from mild to extreme bravery everyday…as a full-time cyclist. The feeling of freedom is not dampened by the inhale of exhaust or sudden shift, turn, stop as a car, a driver decides to make a quick cut leaving me moments to make choices on how to survive.
It’s damn brave. Is it bravery it takes to burn something to the ground, to wash it away, to make space for something new?
Some of this life and death, fire and water, bravery…it is creation and destruction, it is a force.
I think of creativity or perhaps the potential for creativity as kin to these forces.
“Creativity is a shape changer. One moment it takes this from, the next that. It is like a dazzling spirit who appears to us all, yet is hard to describe for no one agrees on what they saw in that brilliant flash. Are the wielding of pigments and canvas, or paint chips and wallpaper, evidence of its existence? How about pen and paper, flower boarders on the garden path, building a university? Yes, yes. Ironing a collar well, cooking up a revolution? Yes. Touching with love the leaves of a plant, pulling down “the big deal,” tying off the loom, finding one’s voice, loving someone well? Yes. Catching the hot body of a newborn, raising a child to adulthood, helping raise a nation from its knees? Yes. Tending to a marriage like the orchard it is, digging for psychic gold, finding a shapely word, sewing a blue curtain? All are of the creative life…Rio Abajo Rio, the river beneath the river, which flows and flows into our lives. -Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Let a testament to wild creativity in all spaces, vocations, lineages of making.
I hope to feel my most animal like desires fully in my creative life. I hope to feel my creatively life full in my daily walk, with flow, fire and gentleness.